His eyes locked with mine. “You know, I do think you’re right.”
“Good.” I pushed away from him and turned, taking the few steps to the back door.
But before I could open it, he clutched my forearm and spun me back around to face him. A gasp fell from me as he pinned me against the wall, his free hand skating down my body, lifting the hem of my dress.
“What are you—”
“Shh…” He hushed me with a kiss. “You said it yourself. I need to get to work on those eight orgasms I promised you. So I’m going to start by making you come with my fingers.”
When he lifted my panties to the side and pushed my slickness around, thumb rubbing my clit, a moan fell from my throat.
“Then my mouth.”
He peppered kisses along my collarbone as I moved against him, pleading with my body for the release I’d been craving all day. The release only he could give me.
“Then my cock.”
He pushed a finger inside me, stretching and filling me. But it wasn’t enough. This was simply a tease.
“Lachlan,” I begged, breaths ragged as I sought that amazing bliss he treated me to repeatedly last night.
“Yes?”
“I need you inside me.”
“And you have no idea how much I want to be inside you.” He continued teasing me with his fingers, massaging and rubbing, pushing my body closer and closer to that edge I was only too happy to fall over with him. “But I want this more.”
“Why? What can you possibly get out of fingering me?” I closed my eyes, pulsing against him as I desperately chased my release.
Suddenly, he pulled away, increasing the space between us a fraction. It wasn’t much, but with how badly I needed him, how tightly wound he’d left me, it might as well have been the length of a football field.
“What’s—”
He looked at me curiously. “What do you mean by that?”
“Exactly what I said.” I shrugged, avoiding his penetrating stare. “I mean, you’re not getting much out of fingering me. I figured—”
“Stop.”
The power in his voice cut me off, reverberating in the late afternoon air, the sky a cacophony of shades as the sun inched toward the horizon on the other side of the island.
“I just—”
“I’m not like him.”
I didn’t have to ask to whom he was referring. I knew.
“I don’t use sex to control. To manipulate. I use it to find pleasure. Both mine and yours.”
His lips gradually descended toward mine. “That’s what I get out of fingering you,” he whispered against my mouth as he grabbed my leg and hooked it around his waist. “Out of going down on you.” His hand skated along my inner thigh before lifting my panties and resuming his ministrations, pushing a finger inside me, massaging and exploring. “I don’t do it in the hopes you’ll reciprocate.”
He dropped his head to the crook of my neck, his unshaven jawline scraping, yet invigorating at the same time. I dug my hands into his hair, the combination of his words and motions heating my body into an inferno.
“I do it because I want to give you pleasure. Want to make you feel good.” He pulsed against me, the thrilling sensation of his need pushing me to the brink, skin heating, breathing uneven. “Believe me when I say that seeing your face when you come, knowing I made you feel that good, well… I find immense pleasure in that.”
“Oh god,” I whimpered as his fingers hit that spot inside me I didn’t even know existed twenty-four hours ago.
“That’s right, baby. Don’t fight it. I want you to come all over my fingers. Want to feel you clench around them.”